Fall From Grace
by Winchester Mythology
Summary: One-shot tag to 13x17 'The Thing'. After living through a literal hell, it takes someone who understands it to help heal a little of the hurt and show that not everyone in the world wants to see it burn.


**Hi guys!**

 **I know I've been a bit absent, but rest-assured, I have a couple of projects in the pipeline! In the meantime, I LOVED this week's episode, The Thing! It had all the stuff I love in it, but what stood out for me was poor Gabriel. Richard Speight-Junior…just wow! He was so fantastic and I knew as soon as I finished watching that I wanted to give Gabriel a little TLC. And this is it! Just a little one-shot that does deviate slightly from the canon episode, but it was interesting to write as I usually use the brothers' perspectives.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

oOo

 _"The memories are shadows – ink on the page_

 _And I can't seem to find my way home."_

 _\- Far from Home, Five Finger Death Punch_

oOo

The lights were too harsh when they snapped on overhead, far brighter than the dimmed gloom that they'd stood in for…who knew how long. He no longer possessed the ability to fathom time. Everything had been a constant nightmare for too long. There had been no days, no nights: just four walls and a rusted metal grate. And that slow, southern drawl that sent knives through his gut and crystallised the fear in his mind.

Then Ketch had looked at him, a glint in his eye. Gabriel hadn't known whether to be glad or terrified.

Fear had taken root first. Being dragged outside had near enough paralysed him. A part of him knew that he wasn't supposed to feel afraid; he had been more powerful than that. But he wasn't. Not anymore.

There had been those in the past – distant faces that he could no longer put names to – who had ruled through fear and savoured it. But Gabriel had never wanted to be feared. He'd never wanted the subservience that came with people's knowledge of his position in the rankings of angels. The archangel kept to himself – mostly – and everything had been fine.

Until…

 _No. Not there._

The archangel blinked, pulling himself from the memory that he couldn't face: didn't want to. He concentrated on breathing, standing stock still, making sure he didn't move a muscle. It was how he'd existed with _him_. The Prince of Hell. He didn't move unless he was expressly told he could. When he'd tried – in the beginning – he'd suffered. In all the millennia he lived, Gabriel had never felt agony like it.

So he learned to be still. To do as he was told.

Clenching his fists, he felt the ice in his fingers bite into the soft flesh of his palms. Ketch had moved away from him, a deep rumble of voices floating through the air.

Still Gabriel didn't move, didn't look up.

"Son of a bitch!"

He continued to stare down, his mind carefully blank.

"I come in peace."

"Yeah right." The voice was familiar, the disbelief laced in its tone even more so. A frown flickered across Gabriel's forehead as he tried to stay focused.

"And I brought you a gift," Ketch announced. Gabriel grunted as the Englishman's hand shot out and grabbed his upper arm, yanking him to the left and into the light of the archway. The archangel blinked at the harsh light, his eyes narrowing and darting around quickly, taking in the anteroom and its occupants in the light. Ketch had dragged him down in the near dark, but now the whole room was awash with light. His eyes settled on the two men for a brief moment, noting almost detachedly their incredulous looks, particularly the tall one.

"Wait a sec, is that…?" Gabriel moved down the steps, looking back longingly at the darkness as they started talking again.

" _Gabriel?!_ " The short-haired one's exclamation was full of disbelief, like he'd never expected to see the archangel. Ketch's grip was hard on both his arms as he manoeuvred the archangel into the room and into a chair. Gabriel's hand shot out as the chair moved, his hand gripping the arm so that he didn't fall. His gaze roamed upwards, taking in the vault-like structure of the room. It was almost…homey in a bizarre, barbaric sort of way. He zoned out of their conversation, unable to keep up with them, focusing on absorbing his surroundings instead.

The table before him was lit from underneath, squared off into sections, the countries of the world illuminated in different colours as they stretched across the surface. Keeping his eyes trained on the smooth surface was easier; it didn't hurt like the lights above and it meant he didn't need to make eye contact with the two men either. No eye contact meant no challenge. He wasn't there to fight; he wasn't there to do anything.

That was not his function.

But the longer he stared at the table, the tighter the ball of fear in his chest clenched until he was breathing heavily through his nose. Normal beings didn't have tables like this: warmongers did. Carefully, he forced his eyes down further until they were locked on his hands clenched together in his lap, held rigid against his thighs.

He didn't know where Ketch had brought him to, but it couldn't be good. And suddenly their words were crystal clear again, solidifying his fears.

"We need his grace."

A horrified moan escaped his throat as his head snapped up, staring wide-eyed at the taller man opposite him. He shook his head frantically, eyes pleading. Not again: he couldn't go through this all again. Ketch's hands pushed him down and Gabriel turned to him, still shaking his head, his whole body trembling.

"Calm down!" he tried to soothe, locking eyes with the archangel. "Calm. Down." His breathing slowed as he took in the Englishman's earnestness. Gabriel had watched him for weeks, seen him from beyond the bars of his cell, and had slowly begun to see the many facets of the man.

Liar. Manipulator. Mercenary.

But…there was something deeper to the man. As Asmodeus had beaten Ketch, sending blow after blow, Gabriel had seen something…different. A glimmer of a more honourable man when they'd locked eyes across the floor for just a moment. Ketch didn't want to be tamed, controlled, any more than Gabriel did. He'd got him out to stop that from happening; a part of the archangel truly believed it. Ketch wasn't going to let him be bled dry now, not after all the trouble he'd gone through to get them out of Asmodeus' pit.

"Here, take that," the Englishman offered, placing a small glass vial that glowed an icy blue on the table. Gabriel stared at it, afraid to close his eyes in case the memories of its extraction took hold again. His heart ached, feeling the loss, not just of power, but of a part of himself, taken drip by drip. There wasn't much left; he could feel it.

"Oh and the archangel blade." He jumped as the twisted metal was placed on the table in front of him, next to the vial. But it wasn't a threat: it was another offering. Gabriel knew the dangers associated with the blade, but Ketch's tone didn't hold any malice and neither of the two men suddenly lunged for it. Strangely, he felt almost…safe.

It was a foreign feeling.

But the more Ketch and the men talked, the more relaxed the Englishman became and Gabriel found himself feeding off that while they spoke. Exhausted, he no longer had it in him to continue listening. Instead he let his eyes wander as he rocked gently back and forth in the chair, finding solace in emptying his mind.

He had no idea how long he sat like that until he felt Ketch move from beside him. Gabriel snapped his head up to look at the Englishman who held up his hands.

"You're alright; Dean and I are going to sort a few things. Sam is going to help clean you up, alright? He's a–" Gabriel watched carefully as Ketch seemed to struggle to find the right word, "–friend. You can trust him."

The taller of the two men stepped up, his face kinder than the other one's. Both had recognised him; both had been horrified by his appearance. But this one – Sam – seemed to _see_ him. Properly. It was both unsettling and comforting. He didn't fit with the warlike appearance of the room – there was too much compassion in his eyes.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up, okay?" Sam soothed, his voice reassuring. Looking up into soft eyes, Gabriel felt the panic in his gut begin to dissipate as Sam laid a hand gently on his arm, offering him help rather than yanking him up. The motion was gentle – encouraging him to move off his own accord. The archangel swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he used them to push himself out of the chair. Slowly, he shuffled across the freezing stone floor and back up the stairs, all the while feeling the warm spread of the taller man's hand on his back – never pushing, never beating, just letting him know that it was alright.

It was so gentle, the archangel could've wept.

The lights flickered on above them as he was guided towards the first of two long tables, four chairs surrounding each one, ornate amber lights standing at the centre of both.

"Here." Sam pulled out one of the chairs, turning it to face its partner and motioning for the archangel to sit down. "I'll be back in a sec. Hold on."

Gabriel watched as he hurried off, running down a set of stairs at the other end. Silence settled around him, warm and comforting instead of oppressive and stifling like before. Silence around Asmodeus meant danger: it was when the Prince of Hell got angry. When he was angry, Gabriel was the one to pay the price. He'd ascertained that two things caused the demon the most ire: the Winchesters – whatever they were – and Lucifer – whoever he was. A tiny part at the back of his mind knew that both names sounded familiar, but, try as he might, the archangel could never remember.

Maybe he didn't want to.

Looking down, his fingers skirted along the edges of his rough tunic, the material almost starched with dirt and blood. It scratched against his skin, but it was a quiet discomfort in an ocean of hurt.

"Okay, here we go," Sam murmured as he reappeared, a green box under one arm and a white bowl clasped in his hands. He placed the bowl on the table, water sloshing around its sides. The green box went next to it before the long-haired man sat down on the seat in front of him. For a moment, Sam didn't move, didn't say anything. Gabriel lifted reluctant eyes, letting them fall to the man's chest twice before he edged them up to look at his face. He never dared make eye contact with Asmodeus anymore; it had always resulted in something vicious. But there was no malice in Sam's eyes: only sympathy and a strange longing to understand the missing pieces of the puzzle. Gabriel could relate.

Sam reached over to the green box, flipping up the lid to reveal a multitude of bandages and metal implements.

"I figure we'd try to get…" the man faltered, swallowing, before looking back at Gabriel, his hands motioning at his own mouth. Gabriel nodded, knowing what he meant. "Okay, on your fingers," Sam held his own up, waiting for the archangel to copy him, "with one being not at all and ten being off the charts, how much does it hurt right now?" Gabriel blinked, surprised. "If it hurts too much already, I don't wanna make it worse." His throat burned as tears began to well. Looking down at his fingers, he blinked away the tears and hesitated before curling the thumb of his left hand and holding up the other four fingers. Sam nodded. "Four. Alright, we can deal with that. It's gonna hurt more though. If it gets too bad, you're gonna tap on my leg with that hand, okay? We can take a break if you need to."

Gabriel's chest squeezed again and he nodded silently, fighting to control the surge of gratitude that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't remember when anyone had treated him with compassion. Life as Asmodeus' pet had involved nothing but cruelty. He watched as Sam picked up a silver scalpel and a pair of long-nosed tweezers. Both were rinsed with a clear solution before he held them up, scalpel in his right and tweezers in his left hand. Once again, Sam waited until Gabriel met his eyes. "You ready?"

The archangel nodded before looking up and away, focusing his eyes on the ceiling. A sickened shiver ran across his skin when he felt the cool touch of the tweezers snake across the sensitive skin of his lips, hooking around the first stitch in the centre. His breath came thick and fast through his nose, a pained whimper escaping his throat when the scalpel pulled against the thread and sliced through, Sam's soft chorus of "I'm sorry" repeating over and over. The archangel used his voice to anchor himself, stopping the tugging sensation from taking him back to when Asmodeus had put the stitches in. He'd learnt long ago how to keep his mouth relaxed to minimise the pain and the memory that surfaced with it.

He whimpered again, squeezing his eyes shut on the third pull, almost tapping Sam's leg when the thread got caught on dried blood.

"It's okay, easy," Sam soothed, taking a small washcloth from the bowl of water and dabbing it gently against the wound, letting it loosen the blood. He waited, giving Gabriel a moment to recover before trying it again, successfully the second time.

They continued the routine in hushed tones of whimpers and apologies, but for each one that was removed, Gabriel felt a little more safe. Sam could've been rough, he could've chosen to not help, but he hadn't. He'd gone out of his way to be gentle. Gabriel had no idea what connection he'd had in the past to the man before him, but he hoped it had been good. Neither of the men had seemed angry to see him alive.

Maybe there was some hope in the world.

"Okay, all done," Sam remarked quietly, giving the archangel a small smile that fell when he didn't reciprocate. He couldn't. He didn't know how. As grateful as he was, Gabriel couldn't bring himself to react openly. He couldn't even open his mouth: his fears ran too deep, too fresh. Instead, he felt his exhausted mind wander, letting his eyes rove too.

"Let me clean up the rest and then you can go get your head down for a little while," Sam offered, the water tinkling in the basin as he rinsed out the wash cloth. Gabriel flinched when Sam's fingers gently tilted his head to the side with another murmured apology as he began to bathe the blood and grim from the archangel's face. The water was warm and it soothed the cuts on his cheeks, forehead and the bridge of his nose as Sam worked meticulously, making sure each wound was seen to. None of it hurt as bad as the stitches, but, by the end, Gabriel was exhausted, his eyelids drooping. It wasn't a good sign: celestial beings didn't sleep. Not unless their grace was so depleted that their vessel started to resume its original functions. While he wasn't in danger of losing his vessel, he was going to have to give into its desire to sleep.

"Alright, let's get you to a room," Sam instructed, drying his hands on his jeans. He stood up, helping the archangel as he had before, looming over him from behind as he guided Gabriel down towards the other end of the room and down the other stairs. Gabriel shuffled along the corridor, his steps short and hesitant despite Sam's reassurance. They reached a wooden door – identical to all the others they'd passed – but when Sam opened it, the archangel was surprised to see the white walls covered in black symbols. He looked up questioningly.

"They're for your protection. Asmodeus won't be able to find you here. I promise," Sam assured him. He gestured for Gabriel to go in and the archangel complied, moving towards the bed that was pushed up against the wall. He looked down at a small pile of clothes that had been put on the end of the bed – a faded green plaid shirt and black pants, his fingers reaching out to touch the soft material. "I figured you might want a change of clothes. They're Dean's so they'll be a little big, but we can sort out something else later," Sam explained, his shoulders rising and falling in a short shrug when Gabriel looked up to him again. The taller man dropped his hands, sliding them into his jeans pockets before backing away. "If you need anything, I'm be in the kitchen two doors down, okay? I'm not gonna go anywhere further." Gabriel nodded, turning away and looking back at the pile of clothes. He heard Sam move towards the door, his final words a final murmur.

"Gabriel…man, what happened to you?"

He wished he knew.

oOo

 **The more I rewatched Gabriel interact with the boys, the more it seemed to me that he doesn't seem to recognise them. I could be totally wrong, but I'll be interested to see how it all plays out next week. In the meantime, I like exploring their minds :)**

 **Please review!**


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